Feb. 4th, 2016

desperance: (Default)
It's Thursday, and that means dinner. Our house will fill with folk who all want feeding. What's a man to do?

Obviously, in my case, I go to Lucky's and come home with pork. It's almost perverse, how much I like cooking pork.

Anyway, I have two big hunks of shoulder, and I am Making Stuff Up. (Some people think that perverse too, that I have twelve hundred cookbooks and mostly Make Stuff Up. But then some people think having twelve hundred cookbooks is perverse on its own account, when my computer is full of internet and the internet, as we know, is full of recipes. But then we do also have cats, and ditto ditto.)

First I did this:

20160204_143307

and then I did this:

20160204_143349

and then I sloshed half a bottle of mead over the top and stuck a lid on and hoyed it in a middling-low oven. I may take the oven lower yet; we've got four or five hours till dinner. But that is a metric fuckton* of meat, so I thought I'd give it a decent start, at least.

I was thinking maybe a gremolata over the top once it's done, because how could lemon and garlic and parsley not be gorgeous atop braised pork?

Among other great questions of our time: how can it only be three o'clock when I want to start drinking now?


*I'm sorry, is that a metric fucktonne?

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